


Let Me Out

by animmortalist



Series: Under Pressure [1]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: 'this is me trying' plays in the background, (but there's a part II), ......A lot of angst, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Bittersweet Ending, Depression, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Lots of Books and Music, Mental Health Issues, Painnnnnnnnnnnnn, Therapy, tw depictions of mental illness, tw references to suicide and suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27861049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animmortalist/pseuds/animmortalist
Summary: Bellamy isn't crazy.He gets sent Arkadia Wellness Center, an alternative to most treatment programs, anyway. He knows it's going to be a failure, like all the others. He's willing to go though, for his mom and sister, even if it's useless. Except he doesn't count on one thing. He doesn't count on Clarke Griffin.Clarke's never gonna get the hell out of here.She's been in and out of Arkadia Wellness for over two years. Just when her mom thinks she's better, she lands right back where she started. If only her mom would understand she doesn't want fixing. Then Bellamy arrives, and for the first time in her life, she wants to run toward something, instead away.Of course, love, and life, is never that easy.*on hiatus*
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Under Pressure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2039701
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	1. It Just Goes On & On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burninghoneyatdusk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. I know this is another wip from me, but I am hoping to get all of my t100fic4blm prompts out into the world by the end of the month. After that, I'll be solely focusing on my (many) wips for the foreseeable future. I hope you can understand, and of course, I greatly appreciate your patience. 
> 
> This fic is one that I've wanted to write for almost as long as I've been writing fic. It deals heavily with mental health, and I do want to warn that this fic will be dark at times. There will ofc be moments of hope as well, but I don't want anyone to go into this fic thinking it will be light. I will be sure to add any tws needed, but please be mindful of the tags. 
> 
> Further, the depictions of mental health are mostly from my experiences and research. I am writing from my own understanding of my mental health and that of friends or family. As the fic goes on, I will continue to do research and educate myself to the best of my ability. Of course, if you see a glaring mistake, I invite you to dm me on tumblr to have a full conversation with it about me so I can amend things if needed. I just ask for understanding and compassion while writing this story as it is deeply personal. 
> 
> This fic was written as part of t100fic4blm initiative. If you'd like to donate, read more about how to prompt a writer or content creator with our carrd [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/). As a writer, I am currently only taking prompts for wip updates. 
> 
> Find the playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/61MILeNpffKih0PA3PJYeL?si=xUy77ZFaSvijwBxuRh7lqg).
> 
> *Chapter title from 'Bad Habits' by Grace Vonderkuhn* 
> 
> Sending love and good thoughts to you all 💜

Bellamy isn’t crazy. No matter what the meds or the therapy or the attempt to buy an above ground pool at three AM last month tells you. He isn’t. But his mom and little sister don’t agree, and he loves them, so, he’s going to Arkadia Wellness Center in yet another attempt to become more well-adjusted. 

He doesn’t bother telling them it’s useless, like the two other in-patient programs he’s been in and the three different stays in the psych ward. He’s nineteen and fucked and his brain doesn’t work properly most of the time. They won’t believe him if he told them it won’t work any better this time. And even if he did, it’ll only break their hearts more. So he keeps it all to himself.

Still, he isn’t crazy. 

“You’re gonna try this time, right?” O asks as he’s packing up his bags the night before his mom, O, and him make the hour drive to his new ‘home’ for the foreseeable future. 

She’s fifteen and scared, and he knows better than to make things even worse for her. He knows he’s been a bad brother in the last five years. Probably all she remembers is his issues. It makes him both pissed at the world and that familiar sense of self-loathing. 

“Of course, I am,” he says, holding in the fact that he _tries_ every time.

If only she understood it isn’t a matter of trying. He could hold his breath and keep his back straight and count down the seconds of the day and do absolutely everything in his power to be ‘normal’. No matter what he did, it would never be enough for other people’s standards. He doesn’t resent O for wanting her brother back. Not at all. He hates himself half the time for not being there for her the way she deserves, for not helping his mom in any way that he can. He used to be able to, back when he was a kid. But he’s not a kid anymore, and the days of him being functional are long behind him. 

If only his mom and sister could let themselves see that, and even try to accept it.

He knows, objectively, that it’s in his benefit to adjust better to his meds and therapy and the reality of having Bipolar II. That doesn’t make the actual adjusting any easier though. Bellamy’s hopes of that ever happening went away a long time ago. Now, he doesn’t try for himself, he tries for his family. 

They’re probably the only reason he’s still alive. Or, at least, hasn’t high-tailed it to the Pacific Northwest to join a cult. And that really did almost happen until his mom stepped in. He’s ashamed of a lot of shit that he’s done, and doesn’t even think that ranks in the top five. 

“But you really promise this time, right?” O keeps on. “Like, you’ll do what the doctors say and try to make nice with everyone else and listen to your therapist and…” she trails off. He knows what she’s going to say, and she knows that he knows. 

They’ve been here before. 

He wishes she’d leave him to his final night of freedom, but he knows it isn’t as if he’d have much else to do. He doesn’t have any friends, after all. Not since he really started losing it. Plus, it’s not easy to keep in touch when one is in and out of the psych ward. In fact, for some weird reason that escapes him, old friends seem averse to remaining in contact with people who are something out of _Girl, Interrupted_. 

“I promise,” he repeats. He sighs, and gives in a little more than he knows is healthy for either one of them. “I will, okay, O? I will do whatever I have to in order to get home as soon as I can.”

Octavia swallows. “Okay.” She turns and opens the door to his room, but adds, right before she leaves, “But don’t come home until you’re ready, alright?” She shakes her head, looks down, and he knows what she says next is gonna kill him. “Mom can’t take it again.”

Bellamy doesn’t even have a chance to reply before she walks away. Luckily for both her and him, she didn’t let that opportunity exist. Because he knows he wouldn’t have said anything good or comforting or remotely positive. He _wants_ to, of course. But it wouldn’t be real, and he knows it’d only be revealed for the lie it is when reality comes crashing through their family once more. 

He spends a couple hours listening to a true crime podcast. Then he tries to fall asleep, but it’s useless. It isn’t that he’s hypomanic, because he knows what that’s like. Rather, it’s that his mind won’t turn off. Every bad thing, every embarrassing thing, every wrong word or drunken mistake, it all comes back to him at night. He hits his forehead and wills it to shut off. It never listens. 

Later that night, he lies awake with music coming in through his headphones. It’s emo shit he’s listened to since he was thirteen. He only does when he’s really feeling self-pitying. Like how ‘Adam’s Song’ by blink-182 is somehow the embodiment of the last five years. Those guys really know what it’s like to be so deep in your own head you don’t know how to even begin to get out. 

Bellamy’s well aware of the predicament he’s in. In fact, he’s been aware of it since he was finally formally diagnosed last year. That doesn’t mean he completely wants to change the situation though. He does try for his family, that’s true, but he knows he doesn’t actually want to succeed. That if things really did begin to shift, he wouldn’t know how to act or understand the world. Selfishly, he thinks that if he really ‘got better’ he wouldn’t be himself at all. 

He can’t ever say that to anyone. Because they would never understand. They’d probably run away scared, or, at the very least, make up some excuse so they never have to speak to him again. 

He’s tried explaining this kind of thinking to friends in the past, but it’s never gone his way. The few friends that he’s ever had (which have all drifted away from him since they graduated from high school and he got kicked out of community college) never even seemed to attempt to understand. It felt that way, at least. Though he knows they may have wanted to be there for him. No one wants to be the asshole who dismisses the Bipolar kid. Or the one who ruins the friendship because one of them is sick. 

His mom tells him not to think that way about himself. That she loves him, that O loves him. But he sees the way his illness has impacted them. They don’t say it, they would never say it, but he _feels_ it, even as they don’t want to think that way about him. He’s read the pamphlets and the supportive movements on social media. Removing the stigma and all of that. It isn’t any use though, and it feels as if it never really touches him. That even with all that ‘good vibes’ out in the world for people who struggle with their mental health, it will never change anything in his life. It won’t change _him_ , most importantly. 

Because Bellamy knows that even if he tells himself different, that even amongst the hiding from it and denial, he’s sick.

And there’s no cure, at least, not one for the kind of sickness he’s got. 

* * *

Clarke’s in ‘time out’ in the nuthouse. That’s what she calls Arkadia Wellness. All because she punched Finn in the face. Well. Whatever. He deserved it. The fact that she’s been hiding her lithium under her tongue has nothing to do with it. Roan reminds her as he sits her down in her room and explains that she can’t go around attacking the other patients and reminds her that this isn’t her first indiscredition. He asks her if she ever wants to leave here. 

She tells him to go fuck himself and that he isn’t getting rid of her that quickly unless it’s in a body bag. 

Roan simply sighs and leaves her alone. This isn’t their first go-around and they both know it won’t be the last. Her hour-long punishment is supposed to force her to think about how much Finn’s perfectly chiseled face really hurt her hand. The little fucker. Like he didn’t know that his girlfriend Raven thought they were on a break while he was in-treatment, not completely over. At least the whimper he made had been satisfying. 

Not as satisfying as her finishing _Moby Dick_ in one night or _Anna Karenina_ in two or when she successfully convinced the lead singer of _The Wombats_ to go down on her or the time she swallowed sixty-four of her lamotrigine pills. But satisfying nonetheless. 

If only Raven didn’t get in between them and then Roan. Then she really could’ve gone to town on that dick. At least she doesn’t have to deal with him in her room. Here, she doesn’t have to deal with any of the others, either. Roan says that her aversion to human connection is worrisome. In response, she asked him if he wants to sleep with her. The look of his face was hysterical. More than when her mom locked her up in this place in what is her fourth stay at the center in two years. 

Well, when she thinks about how the last two weeks have gone, maybe some of that has a little to do with the lithium. 

She doesn’t like how it makes her feel though. Not foggy, necessarily, though people often say it’s like that. More hollow, honestly. Like a zombie. She can talk and walk and scarf down chilly dogs just fine. But she’s not her. Not the real her, anyway. She knows that it isn’t fair to other people, the real her in all her terrible and good times glory, but it’s hard to make that argument when she’s already off her pills for three days. And then that becomes a week, then two weeks. Then she’s taking off all her clothes at the mall and pretending to be the Loch Ness Monster after doing too much adderal. 

That last incident really got to her mom. It would’ve gotten to her dad, too. But since he’s no longer suffering with her amongst the living, it didn’t. She likes to think, since he had Bipolar as well, that he would’ve gotten it a little. Or at all. Which she knows her mom certainly didn’t. 

Clarke can’t fault her for it exactly, but she can sure as hell resent her for sending her to Arkadia Wellness. As if any kind of treatment is going to ‘fix’ her, as if she wants fixing in the first place. She doesn’t need that. Her dad told her that, even before she got her diagnosis. It’s still a murky one at that since she’s only eighteen. But her mom and dad brought her to the best psychiatrist they could afford when she was fifteen. If only they knew then what good it would do.

In her experience, doctors were a croc, her mind was a rebellion, and she was something to be feared and never understood. 

Even amongst the other residents of Arkadia Wellness, Clarke sets herself apart. A loner by default, it’s all too easy to distance herself. At least, until Finn happened. He’d taken her for the cliché she knew she was, and then ridden out the wave as long as it would take him. Clarke knows for a fact Finn’s here because his parents funded his way out of jail or rehab and into this ‘facility’. In exchange, his record would remain sparkly clean. Nothing of the DUI that landed him here. 

She thought it might be fun, to be That Girl for once in her life. The girl with the boyfriend that everyone loved. She still isn’t sure if it’s one more part she wanted to play or someone she actually wanted to be. Hell, she isn’t even positive she ever even liked Finn. 

But when his girlfriend Raven got admitted by a wealthy guardian named Sinclair who worked at the medical office that did treatment plans for Arkadia Wellness, it all exploded. Ending with Clarke’s fist in his face. Raven’s pissed too, she can tell. But she had enough self-control to pull her back rather than contribute. 

Whether they’ll all be able to stand one another remains to be seen.

She tells herself she isn’t anxious about it, though she knows it isn’t true. Her anxiety might not ruin her like the bouts of depression or mania, but it still comes for her, all the same. Makes her doubt herself and lose sleep and pull out her hair in the shower. Even itch her scalp until it bleeds. 

Though she hasn’t done that one in a bit, she’s proud to acknowledge. She shouldn’t be so proud of it, but one of the therapists in here, Indra, says it’s more than nothing. And that if she doesn’t let the small victories feel big, she’ll never celebrate anything. 

Which, funnily enough, isn’t nearly as comforting as she thinks Indra meant it. 

Clarke pouts on her bed and thinks through the various ways in which she’ll ruin Finn’s life. Right as they were pulling her away, she shouted at him, “You didn’t just piss off a bitch! You pissed off a _crazy_ bitch!”

If there’s one thing she knows for certain, it’s that she’s batshit. If only everyone else was as accepting of that fact as she was. Maybe then she could get some sleep. Or, at least, eat her mac n cheese in peace without someone tip-toeing around her, like she’s a caged panther. 

But when Clarke catches herself in her mirror, she stares at her reflection. She shakes her head, willing the blank look out of her eyes. Though she tries to force the thoughts away, they come regardless. They whisper cruel things, stuff she’d never say to anyone, even the people she hates. Most of all, they tell her she’s a liar, and the person she lies to the most? Herself. Duh. 

Clarke looks at herself again, longer this time, and thinks that she might be a caged panther, after all. 

* * *

Bellamy arrives outside Arkadia Wellness with his mom and Octavia. 

Before he’s introduced to anyone else currently living in one of the three large, Victorian houses that make up the center, he moves into his room, shown to him by a guy with a beard who tells him his name is Roan and he’s one of the head staff members. 

Bellamy already doesn’t like him, already doesn’t like it _here_. But he doesn’t have a choice. 

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house,” Roan says once he drops his stuff off.

Roan takes them through the kitchen and the living room where a collection of people from their late teens to early twenties mill about. A couple wave and one or two even say their names, but he forgets them almost as soon as they do. 

They make their way back to the front hall, where a desk is set-up for whoever’s on security duty. There are daily check-ins and curfew. 

“Kind of like Hogwarts,” O supplies with a tentative smile.

He ruffles her hair and she squirms away. “Exactly like that.” He snorts. His mom catches his eye though and he shrugs at his sister. “It seems like a cool place though.”

Octavia brightens just a bit, and then Roan tells them it’s time for them to say goodbye. Bellamy promises to call them later. He exchanges a one-sided hug with O and then a tight, too long one with his mom. 

“Be good,” Aurora whispers in his ear.

He just nods, unable to lie to her. 

Roan claps his hand together after they drive off. 

“Well, you’re free to roam around the house. If you go into town you have to have someone with you and sign-out at the front desk, but you’re not a prisoner.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and looks at the big guy with a face tattoo behind the front desk. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Roan shakes his head. “Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

He gives him an unimpressed look, but luckily Roan leaves him alone. Bellamy walks through the lower level of the house. Poking his head into a couple of rooms. There are three locked ones which he knows are for one-on-one therapy. God. He’s not looking forward to _that_.

But he knows he’s at least got to put in the effort for his mom and Octavia, just long enough to convince them he’s okay so he can get the hell out of here. Bellamy goes back to the kitchen, grabbing a Coke from the fridge. He takes a sip and leans against the counter.

Unfortunately, two gangly sort of looking kids who must be younger than him come up to him.

“Jasper,” says the one who seems to be wearing goggles on his head, whether it’s ironic or not remains to be seen.

The shorter, Asian guy beside him grins. “I’m Monty. You’re the new guy, right? Bellamy?”

“Bet you’re just dying for the low-down, huh?” Jasper asks.

Monty whacks Jasper with the back of his hand. “I said ‘act cool’ not ‘act like a character from _Mean Girls’_!”

Jasper shrugs. “Sorry, I thought...I don’t know…” He swallows and looks back at Bellamy. “So, _do_ you want the low-down?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Jasper starts to say something but Monty cuts him off and then they’re both talking at the same time and Bellamy doesn’t even know where to even begin to follow. He stops trying after a second. If these two are any indication, he’s dreading what the rest of his fellow patients will be like. It seems it’s going to be a _very long_ treatment stint. 

Then he sees _her_ , and he knows, just by the way she looks at him, and without even knowing her name, she’s going to ruin his goddamn life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> Find me on tumblr (@detectivebellamyblake)


	2. Spray Paint the Vegetables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is the second chapter of this baby. I am sorry for the delay, but I had some outstanding prompts from t100fic4blm I needed to get out into the world. 
> 
> This one follows directly after the first one, and deals with Bellamy and Clarke's less than friendly start. It was a fun one to write, and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> In case you didn't know, there's a wonderful initiative going on for t100 fandom called t100fic-for-blm. The first and second chapters of this fic have been written for this initiative. Learn more about us and how to prompt a writer or content creator with our carrd [here](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/). And as someone accepting prompts, I am accepting only WIP updates at this time.
> 
> Find the playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/61MILeNpffKih0PA3PJYeL?si=auFODyUwRpWdY4AES6XjnQ).
> 
> *Chapter title is from 'Loser' by Beck*
> 
> *TW for reference to suicide*
> 
> Sending all the love and good thoughts to you all 💜

Clarke looks forward to hazing the new patient, someone named Bellamy Blake, who has the misforunate of landing here. Enough that she talks through the Finn Situation with Roan until he at least can feign satisfaction. It’s the most effort she’s put into her treatment here in a solid week. She’s pretty sure he sees right through her, but not enough for him to kick up a tantrum about it. 

Making her way into the rec room, she spots the guy who must be Bellamy, and grins. He gets this weird look on his face as he takes her in, and she’s thrilled with something that she would think is joy if she didn’t know better. She takes a casual step forward and—it’s too good—he actually takes one step back.

This is gonna be far, far too easy. 

She walks over to him, Jasper, and Monty. The latter two exchange a look and seem moments away from fleeing. Well, where would the fun in that be?

“Hey,” she greets. “See you’ve trapped the newest orphan. I’m impressed. Didn’t think you guys had that kind of gumption.”

Monty frowns. Jasper’s eyes widen. Oh, right. She isn’t sure she’s ever actually acknowledged their existence before aside from a cutting glare or snide remark.

“You’re talking to...Us?” Jasper asks. 

She gives him a look and shakes her head. “No, not really.” 

Then she turns her attention to Bellamy. He’s hot, in an objective, she’ll probably try and fuck him and then never speak to him again, way. All bronze taut muscles and dark eyes and freckles. She wonders what’s up with him, why he’s here. Everyone’s got a reason. Some uglier than most. Unlike some of the others, there’s nothing really tragic about her. Except the dead dad. The rest...Well, it’s simply a bad luck of the draw.

Bellamy smirks at her and she feels a little more victorious than is probably good for either one of them. It’s short-lived though. 

Because just as she’s thinking of a great line, he leans in and tells her, “You know, being the Princess of the nuthouse isn’t as impressive as you think it is.”

For a moment, she stares at him, and then he’s the victorious one. 

“Dude,” Monty whispers harshly, a warning. 

Bellamy ignores it, and she isn’t sure what she hates more, the fact that he does or the fact that she _likes_ it. Whatever. If he wants to play it like this, then so can she. 

Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and doesn’t back down a bit. “And what does that make you? The courageous rebel who’s come to free the people from my tyranny?” She laughs. “Hate to break it to you, but this place might be something out of a storybook, but that doesn’t include the part where the good guys win.” She gets right up in his face and finishes, “In case you didn’t figure it out yet at wherever you were before Arkadia, _there are no good guys_.”

Bellamy snorts and Jasper’s jaw would’ve dropped if Monty doesn’t put up a hand to stop it. 

“You say any of that like it’s meant to intimidate me, Princess.” He shrugs, at ease. “I think, between the two of us, you can acknowledge that this little act you’re using to drive others away by pretending like you think you’re better than them is simply an unhealthy coping mechanism brought on by trauma.”

She sucks on her teeth. “You’re not the only head-case who’s been to therapy. Ever hear of White Knight Syndrome? My bet is yes. Where’s that baby sibling you’ve got? The one you just can’t protect no matter how hard you try?”

His jaw ticks and she knows she has him.

Clarke notices Finn looking at them over by the corner of the room, Raven by his side. Her eyes flash away from him in a second, hating herself for looking at all. Better to focus on Bellamy. Because at least she knows what to do with rage. The other emotions? Not so much. But anger? She’s got a handle on that one. 

“And where’s dear old daddy, huh?” Bellamy challenges. 

Jasper frantically shakes his head but it’s too late. There’s no going back. He picked the right card, she has to give him credit for that. Except while he’s been thinking she has the worst hand in the deck, she’s got the trump.

“He killed himself in front of me,” she replies, not breaking eye contact for a second. 

If she’s surely going to get in trouble for this little interaction, then she isn’t going to hold anything back. Bellamy Blake has no idea who the hell he’s dealing with. She lets herself smile a little softly.

Pouting, she adds, “But something tells me you’ve been asking yourself where your’s has got to though, and I bet anything it’s with your mom’s best friend rather than a bullet.”

With anyone else, she would’ve expected them to back down. To realize they’re in over their head. To let her win, if she’s so intent on it she’ll use her dead dad to do it. This isn’t the first time someone’s challenged her. She should know better though, to doubt this guy. Because as she’s turned away from him to go read or do anything but interact with people anymore, he does something she never would’ve bet on. _He laughs_.

Clarke whirls around and while she tries to reign in her temper, it’s no use. She can tell by the look on Monty and Jasper’s faces that she’s glowering. Even Bellamy seems a bit impacted, though not nearly as much as she expects. 

“Excuse me?” she asks.

He’s still laughing. She hates him. This hasn’t happened before. No one’s been able to see through her little parade. Well, she knows that isn’t true. Her dad did. He’s dead though, and she figured anyone knowing the show she puts on is just that, a show, died with him. Apparently, she’s wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he takes a breath, “truly, that was quite a performance, but…” He shakes his head. “Did you seriously think that was gonna work on me?” He gestures to Monty and Jasper. “I mean, them, yeah, duh. But me?” He places a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Given our extensive time in one another’s lives, I thought you knew me better.”

She’s got to hand it to Bellamy, he’s sure of himself. Enough to challenge her in front of the entire rec room filled with crazy kids. He’s betting on himself. She knows all too well what’s that like. When you’re the only person you _can_ bet on. Strangely, this fight makes her think that they might have something in common, even though it’s demonstrating just how much they _don’t_ get along. She swallows the feeling away. It’s best not to look too closely at this kind of thing, lest it leads to anything real, anything that resembles something that might make her hurt more than she already does. 

Clarke juts out her chin and grins. 

“Maybe I thought you were someone else. I do have the tendency to think I’ve met people when I haven’t.” 

She rolls her eyes and looks around the room. She didn’t notice before, but everyone’s practically dying not to have their eyes glued to her and Bellamy, instead of the re-run of _Full House_ that’s on the TV. 

Walking back over to him, she sticks out her hand. “I’m Clarke.”

“Bellamy,” he replies.

She adds, “So, how about you prove me wrong. That way, next time I attack you, I actually have some evidence to back up my claims. And you know,” she shrugs, “I can really go for the jugular.”

It’s not exactly an admission of defeat, but it’s not the victory she wants, either. Rather, it is somewhere in between. Both a truce and going down with the ship. Not at all the standard for her. Normally, this is the point in the argument where she starts throwing shit. 

Bellamy stares at her hand and for one, nearly terrifying, electrifying moment, she thinks he won’t take it. He does though. His hand’s warm in her own, and she squeezes, hard. He chokes on a laugh and she brightens. Maybe he’s not as bad as first thought. She’s still wary, and doesn’t bet on them being anything but casual acquaintances at best. That’s more than what most people get from her though. Maybe even more than what she gives herself. 

Clarke stares up into Bellamy’s eyes. He doesn’t back down, but there’s something to how he looks at her that makes her the one to squirm. Before, their words were all a game. Her playing a part and him calling out. But for that small moment when their hands touch, it isn’t pretend, it’s real.

And it absolutely scares the shit out of her. 

So, she tears her hand out of his and gives the room a satisfied grin.

“See you losers in therapy,” she tells them. 

Then she spins on her heel and leaves, finding refuge in an empty hallway. 

Later, Clarke tells herself that Bellamy doesn’t shake her. Even though his words did shake her resolve, if only for a few minutes. He’s just a guy though. One locked in the same damn nuthouse as her. She takes a breath.

“He just got lucky,” she says out loud. “He doesn’t know shit, and he most certainly doesn’t know you.” She nods, feeling more steady. 

Feeling more like herself once more, she stands up, unsure of when she sat down. She looks up and finds she isn’t alone, like she thought. Frowning at her is a girl named Harper. Clarke only talked to her once, when she tried to give her a lemon bar she made. Clarke told her she only wanted them if they were poisoned. The look on Harper’s face was hilarious, but at this moment, she regrets it. 

“Who were you talking to?” Harper asks.

Clarke stares her down, contemplating a response, and then smirks. “Who else? Myself, of course.”

She doesn’t wait around for a reply, and even if she did, she doubts Harper would have one she’d like. Because as much as she’s just like everyone else here, as much as she’s no one special and Bellamy’s right, she feels entirely alone in this place. It’s not just that though. If she’s being honest with herself (which she normally does her best to avoid) she’s felt alone for a very long time.

* * *

Bellamy’s first week at Arkadia Wellness is uneventful, which is kind of a disappointment, since his first day made him think it’d be the opposite. 

Based on that first interaction with Clarke, he figured this place was going to be anything that he expected. He isn’t sure what exactly he believed it would be like. Maybe constant fights. Battles of wit. An actual challenge, for once. Somewhere he has to be on his game constantly and where the people weren’t complete cliches. 

Instead, it’s mostly the same old crap. Weird food. Weirder people. Boring sob stories told in group therapy. Avoiding Roan at all costs, who sees Bellamy as someone to watch out for, apparently. Probably not in a good way either. He can’t blame him, he does like starting shit. Most of all, he does his best to not appear as if he’s completely resistant to his one-on-one sessions. Which is no small feat as his counselor, some guy named Marcus Kane, is intent on actually helping Bellamy. He doesn’t tell him that it’s hopeless. It feels a little heartless toward the poor guy, even for him. 

Amongst it all, he tries his best to pretend like he isn’t hoping to run into Clarke at any given moment. 

She clearly hates him, and honestly, he isn’t too fond of her, either. There’s something about her though, something that makes him want to fight her even more. If only because it’s been the most entertaining part of his stay here yet. He tells himself that’s all it is, but a piece of him knows better. 

He might not be addicted to any kind of substance, but his mom’s told him he might be addicted to hurting himself. Clarke Griffin (he got her last name from Monty after a while) seems like just the type to destroy him. It isn’t even entirely his fault. If the stories he’s heard about her and Finn (a patient he definitely thinks doesn’t belong here given the everything about him) are anything to go by, he wouldn’t be the first. 

It’s not until group therapy during his second week that he gets another chance to talk to Clarke. Like the first, it takes him by surprise. Except this time, it’s for a completely different reason, and yet, he knows it shouldn’t be a shock at all. Like he knows her already, even though they don’t know _anything_ about each other. 

Some usually quiet guy named Nathan Miller who everyone calls Miller talks about letting his dad down. His mom walked out on them two years ago. Bellamy can relate.

“He’s doing his best,” Miller says. “No matter what I do, I know I’m always going to let him down. And I get that thinking like that only makes me stuck in the shit I do that actually lets him down, but I don't think I can stop. Even if I did try. And then what about if I do try? And fail? Maybe it’s messed up, but I think it’s better to just not try at all.”

Then a kid Bellamy only knows as ‘Murphy’ chimes in, and he knows it’s going to be bad. “Boo fucking hoo,” he spits out. “So you’re a disappointment to your beloved dear old dad. Like that makes you special.”

Roan gives him a hard stare and goes to reprimand him, but someone else beats him to it.

“Shut the fuck up, Murphy,” comes from across the circle, from Clarke. 

She’s seething. He doesn’t know why he didn’t think it’d be her, but something from their first interaction told him she would’ve been the type to keep quiet, or hell, even agree with Murphy. From the look in her eyes, he knows how wrong that is, and feels bad for ever thinking differently. 

“Clarke—” Roan warns, but she doesn’t listen.

“You think _you’re_ special?” she questions Murphy, who, to his credit, doesn’t flinch. “Please, you’re pathetic, and everyone knows it.”

“ _Clarke_ ,” Roan repeats.

She acknowledges him with a shake of her head. “Oh come on,” she gestures toward Murphy. “You and I both know I’m right.” Straightening in her seat, she challenges the rest of the room, “Everyone here is so full of shit,” and then nodding to Miller, “At least he knows himself.” She looks around the circle, her eyes settling on him for just a moment longer than the others. It sends an unfamiliar spark up his spine. “I wish the same could be said for the rest of you.”

“That’s enough,” Roan says, severe, and for once, lacking any hint of irony. He inclines a thumb toward the door to the room. “Let’s go, Clarke.”

She stands up, not ashamed in the least.

Before he can talk himself out of him, Bellamy says, “She was just being honest. Are you really going to punish her for defending someone else?” He snorts. “Real nice camaraderie you got going on here. Really supporting us actually _being there for each other_. Which, according to Marcus Kane, is what this place is supposed to be all about.”

Clarke whips her head to look at him. She frowns at first, probably trying to understand if he’s playing her. It only lasts a moment though, and she must read something on his face that convinces her he’s genuine. Then she smirks and looks at Roan.

“Yeah, King,” she waves a hand in Bellamy’s direction, “isn’t he right? That that is what this place is meant to be about? Friendship and helping each other heal and all that sing-song coming-of-age dream bullshit?”

It’s another challenge. Bellamy’s starting to think Clarke hardly says anything without it being a dare toward the other side. Like she wants them to prove her right by getting in it with her. Or end up tripping over themselves and revealing more than they’d like to. He tries to fight it, but he’s impressed, he didn’t think the Princess had it in her. 

Roan glowers at Bellamy, who raises his brows.

“Both of you,” he tells them. “Out. Now.”

Bellamy and Clarke follow Roan out of the room. Miller puts up his hand. Clarke ignores it, but Bellamy connects his hand in a high-five.

“Thanks, dude,” he says.

Bellamy shrugs. “No worries.”

Once they’re out of the room, Roan leads them to his office. All the counselors and nurses have their own space. 

“Is this the part where you ground us?” Bellamy asks as they take seats in the two lounge chairs opposite Roan’s desk.

He rubs his temple. “You shits are gonna give me a brain tumor.”

“Are you allowed to call us that?” Bellamy looks at Clarke. “You think we can get him fired for it?”

Clarke laughs. “Ha. He would love it, honestly. Maybe more than the brain tumor, which would give him a reason to finally quit.”

“So, we’d be doing you a favor?” Bellamy looks over at Roan, who is still glowering at him. 

Roan points a finger at Clarke. “And if I did get a brain tumor or get fired, where the hell would that leave you?”

She shrugs. “Sweet freedom. Not that I can say the same for you. You’d miss me far, far too much.”

Roan rolls his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Bellamy makes a face and Clarke grins. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

Bellamy looks in between her and Roan. He settles on Roan, thinking there’s no way Clarke’s going to give him a real answer. “I thought you’re supposed to be reprimanding us?” 

He’s confused. He thinks this all must be some kind of trick, but the way Roan and Clarke are acting...It makes him question why Roan brought them into his office in the first place. 

“You know,” he looks at Clarke, who’s biting her cheek and doesn’t reassure him at all, ”making sure we’re punished for our obscene behavior or whatever. Write a letter of apology to Murphy or something equally heinous?”

Somehow, Clarke restrains herself for all of two minutes before bursting out laughing, which only confuses Bellamy even more. _The hell is going on here?_ At every other place he’s been to or gotten himself kicked out of, behavior like theirs was a big no-no. The counselors would get livid with him. Questioning why oh why did he behave the way he did. Now that they’re in his office, Roan doesn’t seem half as pissed as he did in the group room. 

“The fuck?” he finally gets out. 

Clarke practically _cackles_ and he starts to get a little pissed, not knowing what the hell is going on. He hates not knowing what a situation’s like, what he’s meant to expect from it. Sure, he knows by now to be surprised by Clarke, but _Roan_. He thought the counselor was predictable. The type he could easily read and fuck with. Now, he feels like the one being fucked with, which he doesn’t care for, at all. 

“Bellamy,” Roan sighs. “Arkadia Wellness is different.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Sure it is.”

Clarke gives Roan a look and then turns to Bellamy. “He might be full of crap fifty percent of the time, but he’s serious. We don’t do that crap here. At least, Roan doesn’t. Some of the other counselors run things their own way, but for the most part, they focus ona different kind of treatment.” She shrugs. “It’s the reason I keep coming back.”

“That and my charming disposition. Plus, your overwhelming tendency to self-destruct and implode your life at any given time,” Roan adds.

Clarke nods. “That, too.”

“Look,” Roan turns more serious and Bellamy wonders if this was all some kind of trick. When he continues though, he realizes it wasn’t. “You shouldn’t go around interrupting group sessions and telling Murphy how pathetic he is.”

“But—” Clarke starts.

“Yes, yes,” Roan groans. “I am aware that he has less than healthy ways of expressing his own tormented relationship with his father. But seriously, you think Indra would’ve been cool with that little display?”

Clarke huffs out, “She’d probably give me a fist bump. You know, with the explosive noises and stuff.”

Roan stares at her. “When, in your entire cumulative time here, has Indra ever been one to give anyone a fist bump of any kind?”

Clarke sucks at her teeth. “I was thinking I’d be the first.”

Roan sighs and looks at Bellamy. “And you really didn’t need to contribute.”

Bellamy grins, this part feels more familiar to him. “What can I say? I’m a team player.”

Clarke looks over at him and he meets her eye. She doesn’t give him a full smile, definitely not anything to rival her laughing at his expense, but her lips do quirk up a bit. He thinks it might be the most he’s ever going to get from her. 

“So, what have we learned?” Roan asks them.

“Never listen to anyone ever,” Clarke says.

Roan closes his eyes and rubs his forehead again.

“Oh, I know,” Bellamy jumps in. “Be crazy, call people pathetic in group therapy.”

Roan opens his eyes and looks at Clarke. “You see what you’ve done?”

Clarke looks pleased. “I don’t know what you’re referring to. He was probably like this when he got here. You can’t blame me for ruining everyone who interacts with me.”

Roan picks up a pen and points it at her. “Yes, I can.”

He makes a couple of notes on a pad of paper. What looks to be pre-printed slips of some kind. He rips it off and hands it over to Clarke, who accepts it when a grin. Roan starts scribbling on the next one, which Bellamy thinks must be for him. 

“What are these?” he asks. 

“Notes saying that you met with me today,” Roan explains. “I’ll leave out the part where you delinquients made me question my will to live.”

“Aw, but that’s the best part,” Clarke shoots back.

“So what are you writing? That we’re sorry?” Bellamy looks at Clarke. “Cause I don’t think that’s very likely.”

“No one would believe that,” Roan snorts. “I’m writing that we discussed why your behavior is wrong, and that you’re both going to have an extra session with your one-on-one counselor.” 

Bellamy winces. He doesn’t care to spend more time with the head of the center, Kane, than he has to. He wishes he could have someone like Roan as his one-on-one, as much as he doesn’t really like him. At least he could cut the bullshit. With Kane, he expects Bellamy to actually _try._

“Smell you later,” Clarke tells Roan. 

Roan flips her off and she laughs.

Once they’re out of the office, Bellamy asks her, “Is he allowed to do that? Any of it?”

She shrugs. “Kane’s chill. He trusts his staff. Though I do wish he’d hire less than outstanding nurses and doctors.”

He agrees, “I know, right? They read my chart and I couldn’t convince them to up my lithium.”

Clarke perks up. “You’re on the zombie drug?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. How original. Though, of course, she has a point. “I take it you are as well?”

She bites her lip and admits, “Sometimes.” 

He knows what that means, but gets it, too. Most days, he hates having to take his meds, but he does his absolute best to do at least that. For O and his mom. He can’t afford to be selfish like that. It signals some kind of warning, that Clarke doesn’t take her meds all the time. But really, who is he to judge?

They exit the house and make their way to where both of their dorms are, neither one of them talking on the way. He doesn’t know what to say, and tells himself that he should say something, anything. Except he can’t. By the time he thinks of a joke, they’ve reached her room.

“I’d invite you in, but I don’t have any condoms at the moment,” she says.

He chokes, and it takes him a moment to register what she just said. He's pretty sure he's in shock. Sure, he gets around, but usually only after copious amounts of alcohol. She sticks her hands into her jeans and looks down at her shoes. Bellamy realizes too late he’s done the wrong thing.

“Sorry, I—” he swallows. “I guess I wasn’t expecting that.”

Clarke looks up at him and asks, “What were you expecting?”

He works his jaw. “Not a proposition for sex.”

She stares him down. “Noted.”

“Not that I…” He feels unsure of what he’s saying even as the words come out, but he can’t stop them, mostly because he knows he doesn’t want to. “I would, you know, it’s just...I don’t have any condoms either.”

“Cool,” Clarke responds. While she’s still closed-off, much more than she was in Roan’s office, it’s a bit better, and he thinks he’s recovered alright. “See you around then.”

She goes into her room and he goes up the stairs to his. Bellamy closes the door behind him and leans against it. Then he sinks to the floor. He knows one thing for certain. He should absolutely _not_ sleep with Clarke. Neither one of them are in any position to—especially not with each other. The thing is though, he doesn’t always do what he should. In fact, usually, he does the exact opposite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading ❤︎
> 
> Find me on tumblr (@animmortalist)


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